


Tear Up That Flag

by xahra99



Series: Rebels And Boys [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Minor Original Character(s), Origin Story, Prequel, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:38:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8956588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xahra99/pseuds/xahra99
Summary: Bodhi Rook’s mother dies at midnight, taking with her his last good reason to remain.Bodhi & Galen, pre-movie. Five chapters. Complete. Now with fanart!





	1. Chapter 1

 

Bodhi Rook’s mother dies at midnight, taking with her his last good reason to remain.

Her funeral is over by the time Bodhi hears the news. When he docks at Eadu a Jedha pilot called Anber Kine claps him on the back and hands him a datapad. “So sorry,” he says. “Gotta unload.” He shrugs. “You know how it is.”

Bodhi does. The Empire does not tolerate delays.

He takes the datapad and stares at the display. Anber wiped his hands on his jumpsuit before he handed the pad over, but the screen is spangled with diamond-coloured kyber crystal dust. Bodhi traces one finger through the sparkling powder as he reads the brief message. His chest clenches like a fist.

He returns the pad to Anber. The pilot takes it, grips Bodhi’s shoulder awkwardly, and hurries away to reload. He can’t wait. Delivery deadlines are literal these days. Harsh penalties are levied on anyone who blocks the Empire’s relentless march to victory.

Bodhi doesn’t let himself think too hard about what he does next.

He pulls his goggles over his eyes so they can’t see him cry. Then he heads into the hold, flips a hatch, and finds a flux capacitor that’s been working loose for days. He breaks the housing with one kick.

The capacitor sprays sparks and shorts out. Bodhi pulls out his own pad and records the damage. Then he goes into the hangar and hands the pad to the first cargo tech he sees. “The capacitor’s broken,” he says, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I’m taking a break.”

He heads into the bruise-coloured sunset with no clear destination. When he sees a path leading up into the pillars of purple rock, he takes it.

It doesn’t take him long to climb above the clouds. The path grows narrow as he ascends. It’s steep and rocky but Bodhi’s crying too hard by now to take much notice. When he reaches the top of the pinnacle he’s out of breath and almost out of tears.

A small weather station crowns the pillar, not much more than an antennae and a couple of dented metal instrument boxes. Bodhi leans up against the closest container. Condensation soaks his uniform. He pushes his goggles up onto his forehead and wipes his eyes with the back of his hands.

The Empire didn’t kill his mother. But they wouldn’t save her either.

Bodhi was fifteen when the Empire invaded Jedha. When the Holy City surrendered, the Empire crushed the Jedi Order and razed the Temple to the ground. They replaced Jedha’s traditional healers with Imperial clinics reserved for Empire troops.  By the time Bodhi screwed up his courage and smuggled her in, it was too late. _Incurable,_ the medics said, before they threw them out.

Bodhi’s captain Hyrren Vas is fond of saying that the needs of the Empire come before all else. Two people’s troubles don’t amount to anything in this galaxy.

Bodhi shivers. It’s cold here on the mountain. The impulse that drove him to climb fades, replaced by numb reality. He knows he needs to return to his ship.  He has no idea how far he is from the base, or how much time has passed. He can’t even _see_ the base.

He pushes off from the control box, turns, and freezes.

The rocks of Eadu form craggy, narrow mesas that are nightmarishly hard to navigate. The weather station nestles in a crevice surrounded by tall pillars. The pillars are roughly the height of a man.

One of the pillars _is_ a man.

Bodhi’s first instinct is to apologise. He can’t see a toolbox or maintenance droid, and solitude is the only reason that anyone would come up here if they didn’t have to. There’s a grim joke in that, each ruining the other’s attempt at solitude. His apology dies unspoken as he examines the stranger more closely.

The stranger is older than Bodhi and much paler. His hair is streaked with grey and his severe face is all lines and angles. He wears an officer’s dark uniform, though Bodhi can’t make out the insignia from where he’s standing.  

Bodhi swallows. His hands begin to shake. Imperial officers can be dangerously capricious. He’s seen a commander shoot a mechanic just for getting in his way. The man was lucky. His death was quick, and they didn’t kill his family.

Bodhi has no family left. He’s still afraid.

He licks his lips and finds his voice still works. “Sss.Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the officer says quietly.

His reply is unexpected, but Bodhi doesn’t wait to hear more. He turns away and stumbles down the rocks, slipping over stones he passed without thinking a few minutes before. He doesn’t recognize the path.  His hands are still shaking by the time he reaches port. 

The Empire is an efficient machine. Bodhi’s ship is ready. An engineer meets him at the door and returns Bodhi’s data pad. “Where were you?” he says curtly. “We’re almost done.”

Bodhi makes an excuse. Nobody else seems to have noticed his absence, and there is no sign of the officer who could betray him. He checks the shuttle systems and fires up the engines for the return trip. The capacitor has been replaced, and his cargo hold is empty apart from a scatter of glittering dust.

The tricky ascent consumes all Bodhi’s attention for a few welcome moments. He hauls the shuttle out of Eadu’s atmosphere and makes the jump to hyperspace. The ship groans. For a moment, Bodhi fantasises that the drive might fail. If that happens he’ll be lost forever in the vacuum between stars. The thought is strangely comforting.

The Empire has recently abolished the co-pilot rule for routine cargo runs. Bodhi and every pilot that he knows considers this a terrible idea for many reasons. Now he’s grateful for the privacy. The computer beeps, reminding Bodhi he has manifests to complete before he lands. He ignores it. Instead he flicks on the autopilot to guide him through the spaces between stars and curls up in his bunk, wrapping his arms around the ache in his chest.

***


	2. Chapter 2

 

Bodhi’s mother’s body is already picked clean when he returns to Jedha.

He decides against visiting her grave. The mausoleums have grown crowded since the Empire came, and he doubts he could pick her bones out from the piles. There is nobody left to berate him. His mother once told him that their family had been great a thousand years ago, but the truth is that their clan faded long before the Empire came and reduced Bodhi’s family to two people and an easily-pronounceable surname.

Hyrren Vas grants Bodhi one day’s leave. It’s more than he expected, but it’s still not enough. He tries to sleep, but his heart keeps him awake. Eventually he rises and goes out into the cold darkness in search of something. He doesn’t know what.

The Star Destroyer’s shadow rises high above him, blocking out the stars. Bodhi ignores it. The base lights fade behind him as he climbs into the streets. He walks without thinking, letting the comfortable rhythm of walking soothe his mind. It works for a while. As he heads into the centre of the city the heavy beat of a drum invades his reverie. Incense scents the air. Candles flicker as somebody recites a poem. The streets grow crowded. People press against him, talking, and laughing. Bodhi keeps his head down. The tremor in his hands returns with a vengeance. He pulls his goggles from his forehead and polishes them with the stained fabric of his jumpsuit. It gives his hands something to do.

Then he takes a deep breath and plunges into the market’s flashy chaos.

The Empire calls the night markets a _cover for illegal activity_. Bodhi is forced to admit they have a point. Within five paces he’s offered spice, spirit, girls, boys, and the use of a small furry alien from an unpronounceable planet for some unspecified purpose. He can’t decide if the colour and crowds make him feel better or worse.

His mother always liked the markets.

Bodhi skirts the edges of the squares and finds a small stall selling _eran_. The proprietor peers at Bodhi suspiciously but takes his Imperial credits-he has less of them than he might expect given the hours he’s working-and finds him a table outside.

He’s halfway through the glass when the stormtroopers arrive. Their spotless white armour stands out among the crowd’s colourful layered clothing. Bodhi counts twenty troopers armed with blasters. More stormtroopers emerge from the alleys, blocking the exits. The crowd murmurs, shocked into sullen silence. The searches have become routine. Nobody panics, though Bodhi hears a few screams as civilians are prevented from leaving the square.

 He drains the rest of his drink without tasting it and shrinks into a corner, watching the troopers shake down the market. The soldiers empty baskets, unroll blankets and probe inside vats with long poles, trampling piles of marigolds, gold leaf and sikka berries into mush against the stones. They confiscate a few small items. Some people hand them credits.

The closest trooper reaches out and throws back an Aqualish boy’s shawl. The boy stands motionless, his fists clenched at his side, averting his eyes from the stormtrooper’s visor. The hawkers closest to the boy edge away.

It takes Bodhi a moment to see what the trooper has already noticed. A pendant circles the boy’s fleshy throat. The necklace looks cheap. It’s the sort of thing girls sell in the streets for a few credits. Colourful dyed gems wrapped in twisted silver wire twine round a clear central gem. Bodhi recognizes the jewel. It’s a raw kyber crystal.

Jedhan civilians are not permitted kyber crystals. The Empire’s laws are very clear on this. Kyber crystals can be used to build lightsabers, and the Empire will tolerate nothing that reminds them of the hated Jedi Knights. The Aqualish boy will never be capable of building a lightsaber-even twenty years ago, that honour was granted only to a chosen few-but his trinket is about to get him killed.

Bodhi watches as the stormtrooper locks his hand around the boy’s necklace and pulls. The chain snaps. The trooper steps back with the crystal gripped in his glove. He raises his blaster.

Bodhi pushes his chair back and stands up. His glass falls to the floor and shatters, but the sound is lost in the noise of the stormtrooper’s shot. The boy’s head explodes, spattering bone and blood across the coat of the woman standing behind him. She screams, eyes wide, and claps a hand across her mouth. The trooper turns away.

The night market explodes into pandemonium. More shots are fired. One bolt shatters the coloured lights strung on wires above the marketplace. Fuses blow, showering sparks, and the market plunges into darkness.

Bodhi cowers.

Perhaps he meant to help. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. What could he do? He hears the crash of falling furniture, a few screams. Someone crashes into him, arms flailing. Bodhi pushes them away. Damp fibres knot his fingers; fur or hair. He smells blood. The night smells of blood and blaster fire. Red light flashes in the alleys. He can’t see the troopers, but that doesn’t mean they’ve gone.

He must get back to base.

He leaves the teashop and pushes through the square. The few people left are consumed in their own personal hells of revenge or escape. Nobody notices him go. The cool net of Jedha’s alleys draws him in.  A few men run past, weapons drawn. Bodhi moves aside to give them room.

They catch him by his shoulders and slam him up against the wall. Bodhi’s skull strikes the brickwork with a brief flash of pain. It brings him to his senses. He holds up his hands to show them he’s carrying no weapon. As they press closer, he realizes that this might not be the wisest move.

There are three of them, perhaps more in the shadows. All of them are taller than he is and shrouded in layers of ragged clothing that conceal both sex and species. They hold a light-stick up to Bodhi’s face. He blinks, pupils constricting in the sudden light.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asks one.

His-her-its-voice is deep. Bodhi can’t place it. He lowers his hands and tries hard to look harmless. “I have to get back.”

“What’s the hurry?” says the spokesman. “More children to murder?”

Bodhi realizes he’s still wearing his jumpsuit. He looks up and meets cold eyes. “I’m not one of them,” he says desperately. “I’m a pilot.”

The figure shrugs. “An _Imperial_ pilot.”

Bodhi looks from face to shrouded face, and sees no mercy there. “Let me go,” he begs. “I have to get back.”

“Back?” The creature cocks its head and points up at the Star Destroyer. The others snicker. “Where are you from? Up there?”

Bodhi licks dry lips. “ _Na hani Jedha’a_ ,” he says. _I’m from Jedha_.

They laugh and call him a collaborator, another word the Jedhans didn’t have before the Empire came. The closest flicks the safety on his gun, reverses the barrel, and holds it like a club. Bodhi cringes.

A voice finds him through the darkness.

“ _A Jedha’a madai zat Empire k’ua_?” she says in Jedhan. “What’s a Jedha boy like you doing flying for the Empire?” 

There’s an immediate change in the thuggish trio. The closest creature bows and steps back. The figure behind it snarls, baring fearsome fangs, but the leader hammers it with the butt of its rifle until it whines apologetically. The ringleader hands the light stick to a small figure. Then the three of them step back into the shadows. Bodhi hears the scrape of heavy feet as they depart.

The new arrival holds the light high. She steps closer, peering at him. Bodhi stares back. He sees a Twi’lek woman twice his age, which means she’s probably much older. Her sand-coloured skin is warm in the light-stick’s chemical glow and her striped lekku are as thick around as Bodhi’s wrist. Despite the cold, she wears only a shawl over a ragged _lengha_ , the ends pulled up and tied around her waist. Her feet are bare. She nods at him and repeats her question.

Bodhi realises belatedly that she’s waiting for an answer.  He shakes his head, stuttering as he searches for explanations or excuses. “The work,” he says, in Jedhan. “The money…my mother.”

She nods. “Ah. I heard she’s dead. My condolences.”

Bodhi’s ability to form complete sentences finally returns. “Don’t you care that I work for the Empire?”

She leans forwards, hands on hips. “Don’t _you_?”

“Who are you?”

Her mouth quirks as she hands him the light. Bodhi takes it automatically. The stick’s chemical light is brighter than fire, but not as warm. “Don’t you know?” she says. “I’m a Guardian of the Whill.”

“The Whill’s gone.”

She nods crisply. “We remain,” she says, and turns away, following Bodhi’s attackers into darkness. Her last farewell drifts over her shoulder as she dips the tip of her lekku. “May the Force be with you, Bodhi Rook.”

It’s the first time anyone’s pronounced his name properly in weeks. Bodhi stares after her. He takes one step forwards before his stomach finally revolts and he vomits violently onto the stones. After he’s done he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, takes the light-stick and returns slowly to the base. The guards shoot him strange looks, but accept his ID anyway.

Anber Kine is sitting in the mess-hall, watching something on a datapad that has too many limbs and tentacles for Bodhi’s taste. “Hey Bodhi,” he says, glancing up as he flicks the screen off. “What happened? You look like hell.”

Bodhi doesn’t answer. 

He’s not sure he can.

***

 


	3. Chapter 3

Things get worse from there.

Bodhi doesn’t know what the Empire is building. Whatever it is, it needs a lot of kyber crystals. He hauls load after load from Jedha to Eadu. The Empire works them like droids and hands out stims like candy.  Bodhi’s shift double, then triples. Anyone who doesn’t meet their targets soon become one.

He’s simultaneously wired and exhausted. When someone calls his name in the hangar he nearly jumps out of his skin. The droid who approaches has a monotonous tone to his voice that makes Bodhi wonder just how long it’s been repeating the summons.

“Bodhi Rook?”

Bodhi nods. He wipes his hands across his overall and snaps his goggles on his head in what’s beginning to be a nervous habit. The hangar floor sways like waves beneath his feet.

The droid stares at Bodhi for a moment. Its eyes flicker. “Come with me,” it says.

Bodhi follows it. The other pilots shoot him sympathetic looks as he passes. The droid marches towards the lift doors. Bodhi hurries to keep up. The doors slide open with an ominous hiss, but what’s inside is nothing more sinister than a lift. They ascend a few floors before the doors open and the trooper leads him out. They walk for further than Bodhi thought the refinery extended. Then the droid stops by a door and punches a button.

The doors slide open on a grey-walled room lit by neon ceiling panels. The droid gestures to a chair. “Sit down,” it commands.

Bodhi sits down carefully. His overalls leave greasy smears upon the plastic. His eyes are gritty with exhaustion, and the fluorescent lights don’t help. He curls his hand into a fist and knuckles sleep away.

Shortly after the door slides open. An officer enters, catching Bodhi mid-yawn. Bodhi closes his mouth as quickly as he can. He pushes back his chair and scrambles to salute. The chair legs scrape across the floor, but the officer’s expression doesn’t change. To his surprise, Bodhi recognizes his face. It’s the officer from the weather station, the night his mother died.

The officer’s expression is severe as Bodhi remembers, but he doesn’t have that Empire look, the one that makes Bodhi feel fundamentally flawed. He lays a data pad down on the table and holds out his hand. “Galen Erso,” he says.

Bodhi recognizes the name. It takes him a moment to work out that he’s expected to shake the officer’s hand.  Erso’s grip is firm, his hand more calloused than Bodhi would expect from a scientist.

“Do you have any idea why you’re here?” he asks as he gestures to Bodhi to sit down.

Bodhi shakes his head.

Erso poises his stylus over the pad. “Do you know what we’re building?”

Bodhi shakes his head. “I haven’t heard,” he says.

Erso nods. “There’s been no official announcement. What do you think?”

It’s the first time anyone in the Empire has asked Bodhi that. “I think it’s a weapon,” he says. “Uh-does it focus something?”

What follows is the strangest half an hour he’s ever spent. Erso asks him all kinds of questions. He tells Bodhi that he’s building a space station and says he’s interested in a cargo pilot’s view. Bodhi is suspicious. He’s spent fifteen years working for the Empire and he has never met an Imperial officer interested in a cargo pilot’s point of view of anything.

When he gets up to leave Erso stops him with a question. “What were you doing on the pillar?”

A dozen lies race through Bodhi’s head. He reaches up to snap his goggles, but scratches his head instead. His hair is lank and greasy. He needs to take a sonic shower.  “My mother died.”

Galen Erso nods. “I lost my daughter.” He hands Bodhi a slip of paper. When Bodhi unfolds the paper he finds a form for two days’ leave. He looks up with startled appreciation.

“I may summon you again,” Erso says. “In the meantime, get some sleep.”

Bodhi nods. He’s back at Jedha before he finds time to follow Galen Erso’s command. Hyrren Vas is the cargo captain at Jedha base. Vas is not impressed with Erso’s letter, and he’s even less impressed with Bodhi. It’s been two days since he last slept, and he struggles to keep his hands still as he stands at attention in front of Vas’s desk. 

“Look at you,” The captain doesn’t bother to hide his disgust. “You’re not even flying combat.”

Bodhi holds out Erso’s note. Vas takes it between thumb and finger. “Six hours,” he says, shaking his head. “Now get out of my sight.”

Bodhi knows he should feel ashamed, but he’s too tired to care. He falls into his bunk and spends half of Erso’s six hours sleeping. Then he rises, changes into civilian clothes and goes into the city to search for the Guardian of the Whill.

He can’t find her.

The streets of Jedha are a narrow maze. The air is crisp and cold. Bodhi traces the boundaries of the Temple of the Whill every way he can. Humans and aliens swarm everywhere. None of them look anything like the Guardian of the Whill, and Bodhi’s painfully aware he’s running out of time.  His leave is almost over. At last he returns to a wide square he’s already searched three times and sits down to rest upon a flight of steps.

The steps are already occupied. A blind monk in black robes mutters a mantra and pushes a bowl in Bodhi’s direction. Bodhi tosses in a credit. 

The monk leans closer. “Searching for something?” he asks.

Bodhi rolls his eyes and slides the bowl back over. His civilian clothes crease and stretch around him strangely after so long spent in jumpsuits. “I’ve been through here three times,” he says. “You don’t have to be a seer to guess that I’m looking for someone.”

The monk smiles as he scoops up his bowl. He tucks the credit in his robes and leans back against the steps, repeating his mantra. “I am one with the Force,” he mutters. “The Force is with me. I am one with the Force. The Force is with me.”

Bodhi does not believe in the Force, but like many Jedhans, he respects tradition.  Jedha city has been holy for a long time. But right now, the monk’s mantra is enough to get them both shot. “You might want to keep your voice down,” he suggests. 

“All is as the Force wills it,” the monk says serenely. “I am not afraid.”

“Perhaps you’re not,” Bodhi mutters. He backs away as the monk lifts his staff. He rotates the rod and uses it to point at a corner of the marketplace. Bodhi follows his blind gaze and sees the Guardian standing in the shadow of an arch. His heart lightens. “Thank you,” he says devoutly.

The monk pauses his mantra and nods. Bodhi rises, flicks another credit in the monk’s bowl and crosses the square. The monk’s chanting fades into the distance.

The Twi’lek folds her arms as Bodhi reaches her side. Her lekku twitch. “What do you want, Bodhi Rook?”

He swallows. “You’re a Guardian of the Whill.”

“So I told you.”

Bodhi isn’t sure he means to ask the question until he hears it leave his mouth. “Do you know the partisans?”

Her lips tighten. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m sick of this. What they’re doing to our people.” He meets her eyes. “I want to join the Rebellion.”

She exhales in a long snort. “You shouldn’t believe all you hear about the Whill. We are an order of compassion. We have no links to the Rebel Alliance.”

Bodhi shoves his hands into his pockets to stop them shaking. “I don’t believe you.”

“The partisans don’t hold all the answers.” The Twi’lek’s voice is serious. “They are bad men, Bodhi Rook. They will kill you.”

The news hits Bodhi hard. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. An answer, certainly, perhaps a way out. But only traitors leave the Empire. Bodhi knows what happens to traitors. The Empire makes sure of that. He was caught in a trap of his own making from the moment he took their credits.

Bodhi wishes he could travel back in time just to scream at his sixteen-year-old self. He didn’t know the Empire then, didn’t know what they were capable of, what joining them would mean. He just wanted to fly.

The Twi’lek smiles as she shakes her head. “You’ve already found what you are looking for.” She pats his shoulder reassuringly. “You just don’t realize it yet.”

***

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Bodhi keeps working because he has no idea what else to do. His shifts shorten again and work returns to its usual grinding round. It’s far too easy to drift back into his old life. Sometimes he forgets about his mother, but the rest of the time there is a person-shaped hole in his life that reappears when he’s not expecting it. He hears persistent rumours that the work on Eadu is ending and that the pilots will soon be reassigned. The Empire’s work here is close to complete.

Whatever that means.

Bodhi flies the Eadu-Jedha route twice weekly, alone or in convoy. The weather worsens as the planet tilts away from its sun. There are storms every night; giant thunderheads that toss the shuttles like toys and play havoc with their communication systems. Bodhi follows Anber Kine’s tail-lights down the Eadu canyons. Rain lashes his windshield. He rolls away from a flash of lightning that splits the sky in two. The radio transmission breaks off into static. Thunder rolls, and Anber’s ship explodes like a firework.

Burning debris spins off and strikes the pillars, showering sparks. Fragments chip Bodhi’s windshield. He leapfrogs the wreckage by sheer instinct. White light streaks through the air. He thinks _Rebel fire_ , but it’s only forked lightning. Anber must have clipped a pillar with his wing.

Oil and blood spatter on Bodhi’s windscreen. Rain rinses it away. The exploding ship winks out like a candle behind him as he evades another pinnacle.

Bodhi’s hands loosen on the controls. The ship groans around him. He’s tempted to give up. To fire up the ion thrusters and guide his shuttle right into the next pillar. The loss of the shuttle and its load of kyber crystals will trouble the Empire more than the demise of its pilot.

Then thunder cracks again, right above him, and the gale bears him up. Bodhi rides the currents round the next pillar. His shuttle soars like a leaf on the wind. Lightning flashes illuminate the bellies of the clouds like great white whales. Bodhi finds reserves of skill he never knew existed.

He bares his teeth as he battles the sky. He is a pilot, and a good one; he won’t give into this storm, won’t go down until he’s ready. He flies like he’s a hero in the mystery plays they performed at the Temple when he was a child instead of an overworked commercial pilot in a shuttle twenty years out of date.

He rides the wave all the way to Eadu spaceport, but the euphoria fades as soon as his ship touches the tarmac.  He unfastens his harness and unlocks the doors.  

The stevedore sucks his teeth. “Where’s Kine?” he demands.

Bodhi just shakes his head. He feels hollowed out, empty as the kyber crystal mines beneath Jedha city. Kine is dead. His hands shake as he reaches to push up his goggles. Perhaps he will be next.

The stevedore shouts at Bodhi to get out of his way. Bodhi moves out of the way of the kyber crystal crates. He takes a stim to force his mind to function, hands over the manifest and completes his touchdown checklist automatically. He is interrupted by something metallic clearing its throat. The interruption briefly jolts him from his fugue.

“Bodhi Rook,” says Erso’s droid. Bodhi recognizes the scrapes scarring its armoured carapace. He nods.

The droid whirrs softly. “This way.”

Bodhi follows. The corridors are clean, silent, austere. The droid leads him into the lift. Bodhi thinks they climb fewer floors this time, but he can’t be sure. The enter an identical corridor and pause at another door. The automatic doors part with a hiss and open on a different room. Galen Erso is already there. He leans over the table, steeples his hands and peers up at Bodhi. “Take a seat.”

Bodhi does. He watches Erso trace a pattern on a piece of old-fashioned paper with a pencil. It takes a few moments for Erso to finish the drawing. Bodhi tries not to fidget as he waits. He thinks of Anber Kine, cremated in the canyon. Then he wonders why Erso isn’t using a datapad. He guesses why as soon as Erso finishes his drawing and slides the paper over.

Bodhi looks down.

He sees the rebels’ sunburst symbol sketched in greasy pencil. Erso stares at him intensely.

Bodhi nods. He traces the curved insignia with one finger while he waits for Erso to speak. The silence stretches out, wire-tense. Eventually Bodhi can stand it no longer. “My mother died,” he says. His words fall into Erso’s silence like stones. “Just before I met you…”

Once he starts he can’t stop himself. Perhaps it’s the drugs, perhaps it’s the exhaustion. He tells Erso everything. All his doubts, all his fears, all his guilt. His hands shake against the table as he explains about Anber Kine, about the Aqualish boy, about the war. He listens to himself ramble, aghast, but he can’t stop. When he’s finally run down he grits his teeth together and only just manages to stop himself clamping a hand across his mouth. 

Galen Erso listens impassively. If this was a test, Bodhi gets the feeling that he’s failed.  A fierce headache wedged just behind his temples pulses flashes of pain through his skull. He reaches up and loosens his goggles. 

Erso says “I lied to you.”

Bodhi’s paranoia, well-honed by fifteen years of Empire life, strikes home with the force of a star destroyer. His breathing comes shallow and fast. Cold sweat breaks out on his forehead as he wonders if this is all an elaborate plot designed to reveal his Rebel sympathies. “Uh, okay, “he says nervously, waiting for the Stormtroopers to rush in and shoot him in the head. “Is this a trap?”

Erso winces. Nothing happens, and Bodhi relaxes slightly. The Empire lies all the time, but they rarely admit it. “Are you -are you with the Rebellion?”

“Not exactly.” Erso reaches out and takes the paper from Bodhi. “We’re not building a space station. We’re making a weapon. The worst weapon in the galaxy. We call it the Death Star.”

Bodh struggles to think of anything more fearsome than the Empire. “Did you build it?”

“I designed it,” Erso says simply. “Those kyber crystals you’re collecting power the superlaser.”

“What does it do?”                                                                                                                                           

Erso crumples up his sketch and tucks the ball into his sleeve. “It’s a planet killer. Mass genocide. Once it comes on line, the Rebellion is finished. They say it can’t be destroyed. But they’re wrong.” He holds up a data disk. “I sabotaged the design. Built a backdoor into the plans. This message tells the Rebellion where to find it.”

The data disk is smooth and grey. Bodhi has seen a thousand like it. He takes the disk and turns it over in his hands, wondering what holographic information it contains. A weight leaves his shoulders. “How can I help?””

“I need you to defect,” Erso says. “Go back to Jedha.  There’s a Rebel boss there called Saw Gerrera. He’s a good man. He raised my daughter. Find Saw. Give him the disk, and tell him it’s from me. Tell him it’s for Jyn. I saved it for her. If she’s still alive.”

“Jyn?”

“My daughter.”

Bodhi nods and memorises the details. He wonders if Erso sensed something in him that night on the pillars, of whether he was simply in the right place at the right time. The scientist watches Bodhi with a feverish intensity, and Bodhi realizes he holds Erso’s life in his shaking hands. He could steal Erso’s message and sell it for a rich reward, or trade the disk to the Empire for a promotion. He already knows he will do neither of those things. A new path stretches out before him, promising freedom, death, or both.

“Okay,” he says. “Why me? I’m just a pilot.”

“I’ve waited fifteen years,” Galen Erso says. “I’ve tried to stall the Empire as often as I can, but I’m running out of time. It seems to me that you have little left to lose. The Empire forces all of us to compromise. I’m giving you a chance to make it right.” His mouth quirks. “I doubt that you’re planning to betray me to the Empire.”

Bodhi shakes his head.

“Besides,” Erso says, “you’re Jedhan.”   

“What’s being Jedhan got to do with anything?”

Galen Erso raises an eyebrow. “Saw Gerrera’s base is on Jedha. You can join the Rebellion. They always need pilots. Use my information to buy your way in and start a new life. You won’t be the first Rebel to have a complicated past.” He looks at Bodhi seriously. “It might be easier if the Empire thinks you’re dead.”

Bodhi nods. “I can fake an accident,” he says, hoping that he sounds braver than he feels. “They might not even check. Just tell me where to go.”

Galen Erso recites a set of co-ordinates. Bodhi commits them to memory. To his surprise, the knowledge comes easily. 

“Think you can do it?” Erso asks.

“I’ll try.” Bodhi slides the data disk into his boot. It rests awkwardly between his jumpsuit and the leather. He has more reasons that he can name to hand the data stick back, to tell Galen Erso that he can keep his plans, find someone else. He’s nobody’s hero. He has always believed that the Empire will win.

So why, when he knows that the Empire has such a terrible weapon, does he still feel hope?

Galen Erso gives Bodhi a grim little nod. “May the Force be with you,” he says seriously.

Bodhi looks at the closed doors. There can be no going back once he’s left the room. “What about your droid? What-what about _you_?”

“I’ll wipe it,” Galen says. “There’ll be no record of our meeting. Don’t worry about me. I’ll stay to help. Perhaps there will be a chance for me to explain myself. Whatever way I can.”

“You’ll fight for the Rebellion?”

“For Jyn.” Galen says. His impassive mask cracks, just for a moment. The look on his face is terrible, a mix of regret, hope, anger, and guilt. “Now hurry. Once the Death Star’s on line, it may be too late. You must find Saw Gerrera before the weapon’s finished.”

Bodhi turns away. 

The doors slide open and close again behind him. He walks quickly down the hall, retracing his steps, and forces himself to slow down to a more natural pace. The data disk burns a hole in his boot, but his hands are steady.

His mother’s death removed Bodhi’s best reason to remain with the Empire.

But it is Galen who gives him a reason to go.

***

 


	5. Chapter 5

When Bodhi returns to the hangar his shuttle is prepped and ready to go, but the port seems even more chaotic than normal. A harassed engineer hands Bodhi his permits.

“What’s happening?” Bodhi asks. He tries to sound casual. He isn’t sure if he succeeds.

“Search and Rescue found Kine’s ship.” The engineer leans on the wing and rubs his face. “They’re bringing back the crystals now.”

“What about Kine?” Bodhi’s heart leaps. “What about his body?”

The engineer shakes his head slowly. “They’re not searching for Kine. Just his cargo.” For a moment he looks like he might say more, but then he shrugs and turns back to his work. “It’s worth more.”

Bodhi knows exactly how little the Empire values cargo pilots. Perhaps they treat the TIE pilots better, but he failed that test ten years before. Their disregard will work in Bodhi’s favour. His hold is empty. If Search and Rescue are more concerned about the crystals than him, it might buy him a few hours.

The engineer salutes with his pad as Bodhi boards his shuttle. Bodhi waves back. As soon as he is aboard he packs a few things into a bag and slides it into a locker. Then he drops into his seat and fires up the engine as he has a hundred times before.

The storm rages on as he ascends. He takes the shuttle in a broad loop to gain height and sets off through the canyons. The flight is easier than he expected, and it takes a few moments for Bodhi to understand why. The wind is in his favour. Gusts flick him from pillar to pillar as he dodges the pinnacles with ease.  Dark clouds tower around him, dwarfing his shuttle, but his path is always clear. The communications system stutters out in a burst of static. Bodhi waits until he is sure that the transmission is disrupted before reaching behind the panel and pulls out a cable. The radio falls silent. The only sound is the storm.

Somewhere beneath him lies Anber Kine’s scattered bones.

Bodhi whispers a prayer as he navigates the maze of canyons and pinnacles. When he reaches the area where Kine went down, he scans the earth below him but sees no sign of burning engine fuel. Eadu’s desolate valleys are no mausoleum, but in Bodhi’s humble opinion there are worse places to rest.

He dips his wings in tribute as he leaves the place behind. The shuttle rises, light as a feather. Bodhi has never flown so well in his life. His hands are sure on the controls. Every move he makes is precise and finely calculated. He hears one last thundercrack before the pillars soften to hills and the space between the thunder and the lightning widens from seconds to minutes. Perhaps it’s skill. Perhaps it’s luck. Perhaps it is the Force.

The maelstrom fades away around him as he hammers the shuttle up towards the atmosphere. His ship breaks free of the clouds, trailing exhaust gases as he fights his way from the planet’s gravity well. He makes the jump to hyperspace as soon as he’s within range.

Once he’s safely in the shipping lanes he eases off the throttle and unbuckles his safety harness. Invisible hands take over the controls as the autopilot flickers into life. Bodhi digs into his jumpsuit pocket, finds a handful of dust-covered stim tablets, and dry-swallows one. It’s twelve hours’ flight through the hyperspace lanes to Jedha, and he’ll need every second if his plan has any chance of working.

He unscrews a control panel from the instrument array, pulls out a thick handful of cables and sorts through them for the right one. Then he sets to work.

The shuttle pulls out of hyperspace over Jedha at sunset.

Galen Erso’s co-ordinates lead to a nondescript patch of desert land circled by the cliff-carved mausoleums that Jedhans use to store their loved ones’ bones.  Bodhi flies over fallen statues he recalls from his childhood. Giant figures clutch lightsabers or hold out their arms out wide in welcome.  Half-forgotten names rose through his memory; the Warrior, the Watcher, the Twins.

The statues aren’t at all as he remembers. The Empire tried its best to erase all traces of the Jedi. Many of the figures have fallen, half-buried in sand, and those still standing are pocked by blaster fire or decapitated by cannons. The golden light casts craggy shadows on the statues’ faces and lends their eroded features a stately, monumental dignity.

Bodhi savours those last few moments. His hands ache from stripping wires. He spent the flight rerouting the ship’s emergency beacon in a loop that broadcasts to his ship’s disabled comms rather than transmitting. He’s done his best to cover up his tracks. He hopes that whoever finds the shuttle will assume the equipment has malfunctions By the time the Empire realizes what he’s done, it will be too late.

Or so Bodhi hopes.

Erso’s co-ordinates flash up on Bodhi’s console. Bodhi checks the straps on his safety harness and tightens all the buckles one last time. He whispers a brief prayer to the Force, the fallen Jedi, or to whatever gods are listening, and cuts the engines. He lays one palm flat on the control panel and feels the ship shudder beneath his hand as the ship falls into silence.

The shuttle banks and plummets towards Jedha’s cold sands. Bodhi pulls an oxygen mask from his chair. The air heats up around him. The shuttle tremors, groaning as if it’s struck a mortal blow.

The descent rips the protective covering from the windshield and in the reflection he sees the tail of the shuttle vanish as the cockpit separates from the rest of the plane. The cargo hold disintegrates.

Bodhi blacks out.

When he wakes, his vision fills with light. The last rays of the sun shine through the cracked windshield. The shuttle’s nose is half-buried in the sand, and a furrowed pile of gravel obscures the lower half of the screen. The shuttle’s nose is half-buried in the sand. Bodhi aches all over. He fumbles with the harness buckles. It takes him a few moments to work free. His ribs ache from the straps. The console spits sparks into his face, and the deck slants below him. The cargo hold behind him is a mess of twisted metal. He’s lucky to be alive. 

He bends down and slides his hand into his boot, checking for the data disk. His searching fingers touch cool plastic. The disk is present and intact. Bodhi feels a rush of relief. He slips from the pilot’s chair and opens the locker. His supplies are still there. The stims have left his mouth dry. He uncaps a bottle of water and gulps it down.  The water cools his parched throat. He coughs up sand and reaches for another. Then he cracks another pill between his teeth. Cloying sweetness fills his mouth. He swallows, shivering as he feels the chemicals invade his bloodstream. When he inhales, he smells smoke. _Time to go._

It takes him a few minutes to work the door free. The mechanism’s jammed by grit and the weight of the sand pressing against the hatch is nearly more than Bodhi can bear. He works open a gap and crawls out on his hands and knees, dragging the bag behind him. Then he shades his eyes and searches the dunes for help.

He sees a caravan several kilometres away. The riders and their beasts are small as ants. Bodhi rips his goggles from his head and waves them like a flag. The travellers turn towards him, probably attracted more by the column of smoke pouring from the shuttle than by his cries.      

Bodhi shoulders his pack and heads for the horizon.   

***

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from The War by Thea Gilmore.  
> In the tide of hate  
> Throw down the counterweight  
> Tear up that flag and say  
> You’re worthy of more.  
> It'a a fabulous song and you can find it on youtube. Thanks for reading and reviewing guys, and thanks for the fanart CP!  
> PS: The sequel, Teeth of the Times, will be posted soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Merry Christmas and welcome to the Trauma Conga! This fic is a direct prequel to the movie and is my attempt to fill in the gaps in character that take place early in the film. The story tells us that Bodhi’s a good man, but we never get to see what drives him to take that final step or how he met Galen Erso in the first place. It’s clear that he’s terrified but he helps anyway, and the movie never mocks his cowardice. As my beta commented, PTSD is a perfectly logical reaction to being in a space war. 
> 
> Posting Notes: This fic is complete. There are five chapters, so I’m posting one chapter every day until December 25th, when I’ll post two. If you liked it, please read and review-it’s all much appreciated. Thanks to the magnificent CP for fanart.


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